Useful People #2
Mr Gardiner came within ten minutes, his coat yet buttoned and his gloves in one hand. He closed the parlour door behind him.
“Well,” he said mildly, “Margaret’s note said only that I was wanted at once and that no one was bleeding. I have learned to treat such assurances with caution.”
Mrs Gardiner’s mouth softened for half a second.
“No one is bleeding,” she said.
“Then we are already better situated than I feared.” He sat opposite Elizabeth. “Now, Lizzy. Tell me what has happened.”
Elizabeth told him less than she had told her aunt. She did not repeat Mrs Wickham’s exact words about knowledge making one useful. She did not speak of Anne, or little George, or the careful way Mrs Wickham had seemed always to place herself amid fear and her children.
She said only that Mrs Wickham had contrived to meet her. That Mr Darcy was safe, though not where everyone said he was. That August mattered. That Wickham’s name had stood too near every warning to be ignored.
“When is Mr Darcy one-and-twenty?” Mr Gardiner asked.
“In August, I believe.”
“And until then?”
“Mr Wickham is his guardian.”
“So it was said in Lambton,” Mrs Gardiner said.
“A guardian,” Mr Gardiner said slowly. “A brother-in-law. A man with access to the estate. A man whose wife is afraid, and whose ward has disappeared into a story that will not hold still.”
“My dear,” he said gently, “that is not romance. That is business.”
“Business?” Elizabeth repeated.
“Property, authority, reputation, money.” Mr Gardiner counted them off with no more drama than if he were discussing shipments of cloth. “People are often very sentimental about such things until they are in danger of losing them.”
“And Mr Wickham?” Elizabeth asked.
“If he has been living for years with another man’s fortune within reach, then Mr Darcy’s birthday is not simply a family occasion. It is a deadline.”
Elizabeth thought of the Netherfield ballroom, of flickering candlelight and silk and Miss Bingley’s triumphant smile.
She thought of Mr Darcy standing before her with his face set and his voice frigid enough to draw every listening ear.
Mr Wickham, standing near enough to hear, smiling with that open, easy attention that made cruelty seem impossible.
And Mr Darcy, turning cold.
Of no consequence.
The words had done exactly what they were meant to do. They had wounded her. They had warned him. They had made her visibly unworthy of pursuit. Understanding did not make them less cruel. It only made the cruelty purposeful.
Mr Gardiner did not ask at once what she had remembered. That was another kind of mercy.
Instead, he said, “If Mr Wickham has reason to fear August, then we need not begin with what he has done. We may begin with what he needs.”
“Money?”
“Perhaps. Or authority. Or silence. Men who are comfortable do not usually take such pains to make everyone else uncomfortable.”
“Can you learn anything?” Mrs Gardiner asked.
“I can ask questions. The right sort, in the right places.”
“What sort of places?” Elizabeth asked.
“Offices where men speak too freely because they believe trade beneath notice. Coffee-houses where clerks wait with packets. Solicitors who do not name their clients, but ask very particular questions on their behalf.” His mouth tightened.
“I shall not pry into Mr Darcy’s affairs for curiosity.
But if Mr Wickham is moving money, seeking credit, or spreading a story through London, someone will have heard something. ”
“And if they have not?”
“Then we shall know the silence has been purchased carefully.”
“The man we saw outside the coffee-house,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs Gardiner turned to her husband. “Lizzy recognised him from Netherfield.”
“From after the fire,” Elizabeth said. “Mr Darcy spoke to him. I do not know his name.”
“Did he follow you?” Mr Gardiner asked.
“No.”
“No,” Mrs Gardiner said. “I do not think he did. He was watching. But not us only. The street, the door, anyone who came too near.”
“Then he may not be one of Mr Wickham’s men,” Mr Gardiner said.
“No,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I do not think he is.”
Mr Gardiner rose and crossed to the bell.
“You are sending for Thomas?” Mrs Gardiner asked.
“Yes. If a man is watching a street, I should like to know what Thomas saw while the rest of us were looking elsewhere.”
“You think he noticed?” Elizabeth asked.
“My dear, a good servant notices everything he is not paid to mention.”
A few minutes later Thomas entered, composed, respectful, and apparently unsurprised to be questioned. He stood with his hands properly at his sides and his eyes lowered just enough to be respectful.
“You saw the man outside the coffee-house?” Mr Gardiner asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Had he followed us from the park?”
“No, sir. He was there before we came that way.”
Elizabeth felt the answer settle coldly.
“He looked at Miss Bennet,” Thomas continued, “but not first. He was watching the street. The coffee-house door. Any gentleman who slowed near the corner.”
“Did he seem to know his business?” Mr Gardiner asked.
“Yes, sir. Very much so.”
When Thomas had withdrawn, Mr Gardiner remained standing by the mantel.
“Well,” he said, “we may safely conclude that London is less empty of Mr Darcy than society believes.”
“I did not say Mr Darcy is in London,” he added.
“No,” Elizabeth said. “You said it very carefully.”
“Then you are listening carefully, which is better still.”
Mrs Gardiner reached for Elizabeth’s hand.
“For now, Lizzy, you will not go out alone. Margaret will not contrive accidental walks without telling me first. And I shall ask a few ordinary questions in ordinary places.”
“About Mr Wickham?”
“About money, credit, solicitors, rumours, and gentlemen who have reason to fear August.”
Knowledge had not protected her. Mrs Wickham had been right about that. It had made her useful.